(I expanded this poem, and then allowed it to fester for a week. I made some changes, settled on a closing stanza, and now I here present this meagre filth to be scrutinized. The biggest flaw I see is the lack of constant meter, this is free verse.)

On Break

It's been a mere twenty minutes on this slow and painful day
while the clock unwinds torture, ticks that fail to fade away;

Merely twenty minutes more are allotted to me.

Surrounded by food, but not in the mood—
my pocket's starving too, you see.

Until I learn a skilled trade,
Exchanging blood for gasoline.

I look up and through,
through the shelves
through thoughts so blue
that they drag me to the present
through and through.

Some cheap candy, (cheap happiness),
it's temporal, just like everything else.
Odds and ends and that and this
it's pointless, so I just look through those shelves.

I see the items, but they don't click,
my thoughts so far removed from it:
where is my next meal coming from
what if I don't have enough gas to get home
am I too weak for the blood bank this week

Speaking of banks, I ought to check...
No, what's the point, I know how little I have.

At home, the computer screen glares;
it flickers at my command and there
on the dimmed screen I write my prayer:
hope for the future, where I most want to be
though diminished and torn, still reality.

Yet, these goals can't be abided in.
It's too important to focus on the present
even without my basic needs present.

The bottle eludes me, and so, I take my meds
and think of the reasons I don't want to be dead
and think of the reasons I should live instead.

My luxury car has a “woof” license plate,
family, friends, and dogs roam on my estate
food and shelter aren't worries, life is great
then I wake up and the dream dissipates.

I make the buzzing alarm shut the fuck up.
Bitter coffee in the light of hopeless sunrise
as I think of the new manager who I deeply despise.
The lady yells at us for every last mess up.

Settling in a sputtering truck, gears shuddering to drive,
as I think of the new manager who I deeply despise.
Spite grasps the steering wheel, and my feet turn to lead;
in my shaking rearview mirror, I see a blue and red.

A crumpled piece of hundred dollar paper in the glove box
next to a concealed switchblade in the cigarette box.
My first concern should've been the leaky fuse box.

Guardrails are so much flimsier than they first appear.
We take headlights for granted, until they disappear.
The road would have been sunlit, save for twenty minutes mere,
and if only the road hadn't held such deer.

Dear life! It flashed before me, the only thing I knew
Blood dribbled from my broken nose
and I thought my days were through.
I looked down at my broken hand
and observed the grisly view:

The deer refused to die
it quivered and it writhed
leaving only I
alone to take its life.

I kicked down the battered door
which fell right off its hinges.
As the glass shattered more
I watched the deer in its cringes.

I took out my rusty knife
and looked down at the blade;
with a quick stabbing slice,
I took my life away.

On Break

It's been a mere twenty minutes on this slow and painful day
while the clock unwinds torture, ticks that fail to fade away;

Merely twenty minutes more are allotted to me.

Surrounded by food, but not in the mood—
my pocket's starving too, you see.

Until I learn a skilled trade,
Exchanging blood for gasoline. (perhaps ‘ I’m’ at the start of this line to clarify this is what he’s actually doing now, not what the skilled trade will be)

I look up and through,
through the shelves
through thoughts so blue
that they drag me to the present
through and through. (5 through’s in this little stanza? I’d consider changing this line to something else or doing away with it altogether)

Some cheap candy, (cheap happiness),
it's temporal, just like everything else.
Odds and ends and that and this
it's pointless, so I just look through those shelves. (I’d change so to but otherwise it sounds as if the pointlessness of it is why he’s looking thru the shelves)

I see the items, but they don't click,
my thoughts so far removed from it:
where is my next meal coming from
what if I don't have enough gas to get home
am I too weak for the blood bank this week

Speaking of banks, I ought to check...
No, what's the point, I know how little I have.

At home, the computer screen glares;
it flickers at my command and there
on the dimmed screen I write my prayer:
hope for the future, where I most want to be
though diminished and torn, still reality.(this makes it sound as if the future is diminished and torn- is that the intent?)

Yet, these goals can't be abided in. (abided in sounds wrong, perhaps added in)
It's too important to focus on the present
even without my basic needs present. (two lines ending with present here – I’d consider changing one of them)

The bottle eludes me, and so, I take my meds
and think of the reasons I don't want to be dead
and think of the reasons I should live instead.

My luxury car has a “woof” license plate,
family, friends, and dogs roam on my estate
food and shelter aren't worries, life is great
then I wake up and the dream dissipates.

I make the buzzing alarm shut the fuck up. (nice transition to a new day)
Bitter coffee in the light of hopeless sunrise
as I think of the new manager who I deeply despise.
The lady yells at us for every last mess up. (seems awkward – maybe the lady who yells at us for every small mess up)

Settling in a sputtering truck, gears shuddering to drive, (perhaps ‘...gears shudder as I drive’ lose end comma)
as I think of the new manager who I deeply despise.
Spite grasps the steering wheel, and my feet turn to lead;
in my shaking rearview mirror, I see a blue and red. (what’s a blue and red? This is unclear)

A crumpled piece of hundred dollar paper in the glove box (vague perhaps just a crumpled hundred dollar note in the glove box)
next to a concealed switchblade in the cigarette box.
My first concern should've been the leaky fuse box. (faulty may be better than leaky, which generally implies fluid, tho I realize it can refer to power loss as well)

Guardrails are so much flimsier than they first appear.
We take headlights for granted, until they disappear.
The road would have been sunlit, save for twenty minutes mere, (inversion)
and if only the road hadn't held such deer.(held such deer sounds wrong perhaps held so many deer)

Dear life! It flashed before me, the only thing I knew
Blood dribbled from my broken nose
and I thought my days were through.
I looked down at my broken hand
and observed the grisly view:

The deer refused to die
it quivered and it writhed
leaving only I
alone to take its life.

I kicked down the battered door
which fell right off its hinges.
As the glass shattered more
I watched the deer in its cringes. (in it’s cringes sounds wrong, perhaps ...the deer as it cringed’ )

I took out my rusty knife
and looked down at the blade;
with a quick stabbing slice,
I took my life away.

Hi hippy

I don’t think you’ve given us enough reason for the sudden decision to end his own life rather than put the deer out of its misery...‘Dear Life!’ he exclaims in the crash as his life flashes before him, which doesn’t seem to go with this hatred of his life theme you have running here. Perhaps do away with the exclamation, and change that line to “Life flashed before me, the only thing I knew” to do away with the idea that life is dear to him, when, from the ending, it isn’t.

Overall, I thought it wasn’t too bad.

Marianne

Hey Hippy,

Your lack of meter combined with the inconsistent rhyming pattern is challenging (as you point out). I think the few incoherent thoughts and transitions you have at different points is a bigger challenge for me as a reader. Let me explain what I mean.

I really like the overall idea and many of your specific scenes (blood bank, the driving and dream sequences, and hitting the deer in particular) but you're losing me in between with some really abstract lines & stanzas, not to mention some incomprehensible lines.

I've tried to highlight and explain some of these below.

I think you have a good piece in here, but its excessively long with many redundant lines.

Thanks for the read, I hope you'll let this fester again and have another go.
t

(05-06-2014, 12:33 AM)kindofahippy Wrote:  (I expanded this poem, and then allowed it to fester for a week. I made some changes, settled on a closing stanza, and now I here present this meagre filth to be scrutinized. The biggest flaw I see is the lack of constant meter, this is free verse.)

On Break

It's been a mere twenty minutes on this slow and painful day
while the clock unwinds torture, ticks that fail to fade away;

Merely twenty minutes more are allotted to me.

Surrounded by food, but not in the mood— unnecessary rhyme, and "the mood" implies a whimsy of choice that's inconsistent with starving in the next line.
my pocket's starving too, you see. now how is your pocket starving but not you as you've said in the previous line? What is your pocket starving for. Money but not food perhaps. I'm pretty lost.

Until I learn a skilled trade,
Exchanging blood for gasoline. I like this idea, but I think from a semantic perspective you should reverse the order of the lines

I look up and through,
through the shelves
through thoughts so blue
that they drag me to the present
through and through. too many "throughs" here, and blue thoughts is very cliched.

Some cheap candy, (cheap happiness),
it's temporal, just like everything else. this is hyperbolic and again incoherent, as everything else is not in fact temporal.
Odds and ends and that and this
it's pointless, so I just look through those shelves.
I think these two stanzas could be trimmed and combined into one. would be more powerful that way


I see the items, but they don't click,
my thoughts so far removed from it:
where is my next meal coming from
what if I don't have enough gas to get home
am I too weak for the blood bank this week

Speaking of banks, I ought to check...
No, what's the point, I know how little I have.

At home, the computer screen glares;
it flickers at my command and there
on the dimmed screen I write my prayer: dimmed and glares are conflicting, but besides that minor detail, these are great lines. Really good contrast between my command & prayer.
hope for the future, where I most want to be
though diminished and torn, still reality. im lost again here. very abstract.

Yet, these goals can't be abided in.
It's too important to focus on the present
even without my basic needs present.

The bottle eludes me, and so, I take my meds
and think of the reasons I don't want to be dead
and think of the reasons I should live instead.

My luxury car has a “woof” license plate,
family, friends, and dogs roam on my estate
food and shelter aren't worries, life is great
then I wake up and the dream dissipates.

I make the buzzing alarm shut the fuck up.
Bitter coffee in the light of hopeless sunrise
as I think of the new manager who I deeply despise.
The lady yells at us for every last mess up.

Settling in a sputtering truck, gears shuddering to drive, gears don't drive, the truck could drive, you could drive, but a gear alone doesn't drive.
as I think of the new manager who I deeply despise.
Spite grasps the steering wheel, and my feet turn to lead;
in my shaking rearview mirror, I see a blue and red.

A crumpled piece of hundred dollar paper in the glove box
next to a concealed switchblade in the cigarette box.
My first concern should've been the leaky fuse box.

Guardrails are so much flimsier than they first appear.
We take headlights for granted, until they disappear.
The road would have been sunlit, save for twenty minutes mere,
and if only the road hadn't held such deer.

Dear life! It flashed before me, the only thing I knew
Blood dribbled from my broken nose
and I thought my days were through.
I looked down at my broken hand
and observed the grisly view: If you're looking down and observing your hand, that is the grisly view, so you would need a period here. If you look down at your hand "then" observe the grisly view, this would be the deer in the next stanza, so you could use a a semi-colon.

The deer refused to die comma or period here
it quivered and it writhed lose the second "it"
leaving only I
alone to take its life.

I kicked down the battered door
which fell right off its hinges.
As the glass shattered more
I watched the deer in its cringes. "shattered more" and "in its cringes" are awkward phrases to meet the rhyme

I took out my rusty knife
and looked down at the blade;
with a quick stabbing slice,
I took my life away.

These last 6 stanzas for me are your strongest. Some lines need tightening, but I think there's a piece all on it's own in here.

I hope some of that is useful.
I'll keep an eye out for any edits or revisions
t

Mopkins, tomoffing, thanks for your input! The theme is poverty, being too poor to buy any lunch but working with food all day. It's a complete lack of enthusiasm for life after getting stuck in a rut, and never having a social life or doing anything but working and sleeping, because of abject poverty. The only hope and joy left is the glimmer of dreams for the future, where the grass is greener.

The free-verse is intentional, I wanted this piece to lack even meter to enforce the idea of someone who is too depressed to care. I can see how the shift from focusing on real life only when necessary and spending most time in daydreams and idle hope can be confusing.

(05-07-2014, 02:04 AM)kindofahippy Wrote:  Mopkins, tomoffing, thanks for your input! The theme is poverty, being too poor to buy any lunch but working with food all day. It's a complete lack of enthusiasm for life after getting stuck in a rut, and never having a social life or doing anything but working and sleeping, because of abject poverty. The only hope and joy left is the glimmer of dreams for the future, where the grass is greener.

The free-verse is intentional, I wanted this piece to lack even meter to enforce the idea of someone who is too depressed to care. I can see how the shift from focusing on real life only when necessary and spending most time in daydreams and idle hope can be confusing.

Your theme comes across no problem, you've nailed that.

However, in this piece you have used rhymes throughout. Some work, some do not.
Rhyme is as much dependent on meter as it is on the words chosen.
It's pointless of me to rhyme to you, if when you arrive there your face is blue from all of the air that you've have to go through!!

What I mean is, if you wish to keep the rhyme, you need to bring some kind of metrical structure to this. Otherwise, remove the rhymes that don't work.


On a separate note, I have heard it said before that "I didn't use meter to reinforce the chaos" (or something to that effect). I think that's an escape route from the challenge of writing a consistent meter to be honest. It doesn't reinforce a sense of chaos or confusion, it makes it chaotic and confusing to read. They are very different.

A truly skillful poet might convey those feelings by writing in a consistent meter that draws me in and along and right at the moment I should sense the confusion, they deliberately depart from meter.

Anyway, my opinion only.

Thanks again, t